


Wordplay

by babydragon7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydragon7/pseuds/babydragon7
Summary: “Hey, Peril, would you mind terribly handcuffing me to a chair?”
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 97





	Wordplay

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine!
> 
> This is as kinky as I probably can write. A bit of foot-fetish, I guess, but very slight and non-graphic.

“Hey, Peril, would you mind terribly handcuffing me to a chair?” Napoleon asks faux casually.

Ilya raises his eyes from the book and actually smiles.

Is it Napoleon’s imagination, or had Ilya actually gotten soft? Which is funny, because – cue bad pun – Napoleon had gotten very hard for him lately.

Anyway, his smile is a sight for a sore eye, and Napoleon will not question it.

“I could, Cowboy, yes, if you tell me what for”.

“Oh, it’s nothing much. A small experiment. You handcuff me, I try to get out of handcuffs, call it rehearsing”.

The thing is, Napoleon has a neat trick up his sleeve, new set of superspy cufflinks, just give them a twist and a certain skeleton key emerges. One Napoleon needs to test in action. So the goal is to imitate the setting, which occurs much too often in their spy lives, when Napoleon is handcuffed and needs to get free quickly to save his partner’s pretty ass as well as his own.

Ilya approaches, still smiling happily, waits as Napoleon takes a sit and handcuffs both of his hands behind the chair.

“Now what?”

“You pretend you’re some evil mastermind, who’s up to no good, and I try to distract you with my dashing looks and smooth talk”.

“So this is a roleplay?” Ilya asks, and Napoleon chokes a little. Not that he would not want to…

“Roleplay is something else, Peril”.

“Because I have a medical gown somewhere, I could play Doctor Evil.”

Napoleon chokes some more. He is clearly projecting, he must be, and no way is Ilya saying what it appears he is saying.

“Let’s keep it simple for now, shall we? Just tell me how you going to torture me or something, you know bad people just love doing that”. Nobody in Napoleon considerate experience just did torture. No, they always wanted _to talk_ first. Evil masterminds were so predictable.

Not Ilya it seems, who just gives Napoleon a once over and drops to one knee in front of the chair.

“What the hell are you doing, P… mister?” Napoleon asks and he sounds breathless.

Ilya just rises his head to look Napoleon straight in the eye, takes his foot and starts to take the shoe off.

“I need to make sure your shoes do not have trackers in them”, Ilya explains. Then he gets rid of the sock and takes Napoleon’s naked foot in his large warm slightly calloused – or god – hands.

As soon as a callous of his trigger finger brushes the side of Napoleon’s foot, he has a revelation. He goes to a thick mental folder, titled ‘Napoleon’s kinks and where to find them’, opens it up and makes a new entry.

Meanwhile Ilya’s fingers squirrel up his partner’s trousers, and there is definitely a wire Napoleon previously had not idea about, connecting his ankle and cock.

“I could torture you with pleasure”, Ilya purrs dreamily. He proceeds to rub Napoleon’s foot, grazing it with his blunt nails.

Napoleon is glad he is sitting for this. ‘This has gotten out of hand’, Napoleon thinks and he knows there is a good pun lying somewhere, but is too hyped to find it. In addition, now his cock hogs all the blood leaving the brain bereft, so having a coherent thought is somewhat hard.

At least Ilya seems to enjoy himself. However, when it looks like he is considering putting one of Napoleon’s toes in his mouth, Solo decides to call an end to this madness.

“Peril, Ilya, stop, please”, he pleads, and Ilya looks up from the floor clearly confused. “Uncuff me”.

Ilya gets up slowly, breaths out, undoes the cuffs, and Napoleon scrambles out of the chair.

“Look, Peril, it’s… there has been a misunderstanding. I’ve just meant to test my new cufflinks to open shackles, nothing else”.

Ilya looks crestfallen, and… Napoleon does a quick swipe with his eyes, is Ilya also tremendously hard?

“Oh”, Ilya says. “I’m sorry. I thought that was – I forgot the word – something else. That you wanted me”. He averts his eyes.

Napoleon wants nothing more than to go hide. However, Ilya sounds raw and honest, and no matter how Napoleon envisioned this moment earlier, this is it, the chance to act on this desire, which – incredibly – appears to be mutual.

Napoleon sighs. “Of course I want you, Ilya. I want you always”

XXX

Two hours later Napoleon is so fucked out, he can barely move. Ilya is watching him fondly from the bottom of the bed, where he just came again, this time rubbing himself on Napoleon’s feet. Now he is drawing twirls with his fingers, spreading his own come all over his partner’s soles. Are all Soviets so depraved and insatiable or Napoleon just got unbelievably lucky?

“Cowboy”, Ilya calls, and Napoleon can barely lift his head from the pillow.

“Hmm”, he offers.

“I remembered the word I was looking for earlier. ‘Foreplay’”.

Napoleon chuckles. “It sure was, Peril, it sure was”.


End file.
